Last Chance Saloon
by guineamania
Summary: Modern Boarding School AU. Julien Enjolras is the prefect, son of the main owner of the Lycee du Musain and part time revolutionary. Nicolas Grantaire is the juvenile delinquet, boy who has been kicked out of six schools in a year and cynic. This is his last chance, and will Enjolras make it the best one yet?
1. Chapter 1

_**26/9/13**_

**As an apology for the extra-long wait for my other fanfics and as a peace offering, I bring you Last Chance Saloon. I have been working on this for a while and so have about 9 chapters already written. So I will post a new chapter of this every week so you guys have something constant when my other writing is not consistent at all. Enjoy**

**Last Chance Saloon**

**Chapter 1**

The messy brunette teenager strolled in the reception. His rugged suitcase rolled behind him like an ever faithful servant, squeaking with every turn of the wheel. He looked around, trying unsuccessfully to act unimpressed by the stunning architecture. "Are you Nicolas Grantaire?" the receptionist asked and he nodded slouching against the counter. "Welcome to Le Lycée Du Musain," she chuckled but Grantaire's expression remained stoical and disapproving. "Here are your timetable and a map of the campus," she said passing him pieces of paper. "Here is your planner and a copy of the school rules," she explained and Grantaire scoffed at the notion of school rules. "You are in Room three hundred twenty-four, sharing with one of our school prefects. He'll look after you until you settle in," she said, checking her papers. Grantaire nodded and left towards his room. After about half an hour of getting lost, he finally made it to Room three hundred twenty-four. Inside sat two beds; one side of the room was bare and bright white. However the other was meticulously organised but yet busy and frantic at the same time. The walls were painted a bright red with a French flag hanging loose. All the decoration ended in a perfectly straight line in the middle of the room. "Perfect, Prefect," Grantaire mumbled under his breath and collapsed on the too neat bed.

He didn't have to go to any lessons today; so after he had unpacked his miniscule number of belongings, Grantaire set off exploring. The campus was huge and spanned the size of a small town. Yet Grantaire still felt enclosed and trapped; he was a free bird and needed to be able to roam free. A large cage is still a cage and there were rules, even though the sheet sat shredded in his bin. Eventually Grantaire found himself sat in a tall tree with his sketchpad out. After a swig from his ever present hip flask, he calmly drew a bird perched on the tree opposite him_._ He didn't notice the last class of the day being let out and the people milling around. Everyone stared at him as they walked past but Grantaire was completely engrossed in his shading. "Hey, new kid!" a voice shouted from below him and Grantaire snapped back to attention again. "You need to get down from there! Against the rules and all that," the boy stated and Grantaire just shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you, new kid," the other boy stated. "Robin de Courfeyrac," he introduced himself and Grantaire sniggered. "Don't laugh at the name," he smiled and Grantaire shook his head.

"De…you have a de," he chuckled, finding himself warming to this boy instantly.

"Yeah but everyone calls me Courfeyrac or Courf," he shrugged and Grantaire nodded.

"Nicolas Grantaire," he replied, and Courfeyrac nodded.

"Pleased to meet you," Courfeyrac chuckled.

"Nicolas Grantaire! Get down from there now!" a voice boomed and Courfeyrac winced.

"Headmaster Javert, you do not want to get on the wrong side of him," Grantaire's new acquaintance mumbled as Grantaire jumped from the tree still holding his sketchbook.

"I think I just have," he winked as Javert pointed him over with a stern look planted on his face.

Grantaire thumped down into a chair in the office, glaring at the headmaster. "Nicolas I will not tolerate anything from you. Six schools in one year is unacceptable and this is your last chance! Your parents have told me that if you are expelled from here then it is a reform school," he emphasized and Grantaire rolled his eyes. "You have after school detention for two weeks and you have to spend every lunch time for two weeks helping Miss Nord with the Art Club," he stated and Grantaire began protesting. He was silenced instantly on the threat of more detention. "It is said you are talented in that department and she is interested in seeing your work. This how you got your scholarship anyway" he stated before dismissing Grantaire. "Hopefully Julien will have a good impact on you," he heard as he left and scoffed as soon as he was out of earshot. No prefect was changing Nicolas Grantaire.

He sauntered back to his room and collapsed on the bed. Someone had obviously been in as his shoes were moved back over the line away from the prefect's side of the room. Grantaire pushed them back to aggravate his roommate. He curled up on the bed with his sketch book and let his pencil run freely. He was so focused on the drawing coming to shape in front of him that he didn't hear the door squeak open. He heard his converse being pushed back onto his side and let out a little chuckled. "And you must be the famous Julien," he stated, resting the sketch pad on his knee and finally looking at his roommate. He was stunning, absolutely stunning. His blonde curls curled round his face and his blazing blue eyes bored into Grantaire's skull. He felt his hand itch for a pencil and to capture this beauty residing in front of him.

"And how am I famous?" Julien asked bluntly while unpacking his bag.

"Apparently you are to have a good impact on me," he replied, mimicking Javert's voice to try and urge a smile from the boy.

"No one calls me Julien, my name is Enjolras," he commented still not looking directly at Grantaire. "And I hear you have been kicked out of six schools in a year and already have two weeks of detention here," Enjolras replied in a _Take that!_sort of manner. Grantaire just shrugged and returned to his drawing.

"What are you drawing?" Enjolras finally asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"My boyfriend," Grantaire replied, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. He stared at the drawing taking in every detail of the face he knew off by heart. Jean's deep brown locks permanently styled without him even trying; his piercing blue eyes that were stern yet soft and seemed to show all his emotions in one storm. The way he chewed his glasses and how he always ground his jaw when he was nervous; made Grantaire's heart flutter. Enjolras clearly picked up on the sorrow and longing in Grantaire's expression and felt sorry for the rebel.

"You're gay?" Enjolras asked, already knowing the answer. Grantaire nodded looking up into Enjolras' glimmering blue eyes.

"You have a problem with that?" Grantaire asked scornfully and Enjolras smiled for the first time since they met.

"Why do you think I don't have a roommate?" he retorted, confessing to Grantaire what he hadn't confessed to anyone in a long time. "Do you miss him?" he asked afterwards, the tension towards his new roommate fading slightly.

"Yeah…a hell of a lot," Grantaire whispered caressing the face of the drawing. But yet he found his mind drifting away from Jean-Henri and to Enjolras. He loved Jean-Henri, but then he lusted after Enjolras and he had only just met the man. His heart was in turmoil and it didn't help that the only person whoever understood him was all the way in Nice.

"I'm off out," Enjolras commented. "Don't touch my stuff, don't spread into my side of the room and don't get in trouble while I am gone!" he insisted and Grantaire chuckled. Grantaire was completely incapable of staying out of trouble, he accepted that now. And anyway, he had a plan to put into action. A little bit of revenge on the system that kept him trapped; Enjolras never had to know.

"I'll try my best," he winked and the door slammed shut.

**For reference I have based Jean-Henri on Seamus Dever ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**3/10/13**_

**Chapter 2 is here … enjoy :)**

**Chapter 2**  
"Julien Enjolras will you please report to the headmaster's office," the loud speaker announced and Enjolras groaned.

"Oooo what has perfect boy done now?" Courfeyrac teased; he ducked to avoid being swatted by Combeferre. Enjolras had only been at their meeting room for ten minutes and he was already being called away. He slammed the door in frustration before storming through the halls. It was probably another prefect duty that needed to be fulfilled; he hated this job but it allowed him to make changes. As he approached the office, Enjolras closed his eyes and calmed his breathing; it would not do to lose his temper in front of the boss. He knocked on the door and slowly pushed it open. He couldn't help roll his eyes and sigh at the boy slumped in the chair.

Grantaire, his new roommate, was slouched in the chair having a glaring contest with the grounds man who loitered behind Headmaster Javert. "Julien, sit down," Javert asked and Enjolras sunk into a chair. "Nicolas has been caught vandalising school property," Javert snarled at the rebel and Enjolras let out a sigh if despair. "And for that he must spend all his free periods helping Miss Nord in the Art Department and lunchtimes in detention for the next two months. I am relying on you to make sure he actually turns up to these punishments and keep him out of trouble," Javert explained and Enjolras reluctantly nodded before they were both dismissed. As soon as the door shut Enjolras flipped.

"What the hell did you do?" he exclaimed furiously. "I was gone for quarter of an hour and you got yourself caught vandalising!" he continued to shout.

"I was making a statement," Grantaire shrugged, pulling out a cigarette. Enjolras quickly swatted it to the floor with a growl.

"Don't smoke!" he shouted in exasperation. "What sort of statement?" Enjolras asked, partially to know what he was dealing with but mostly as he loved people making statements.

"Well," he mumbled but was hurried along by a glare from Enjolras. "I carved a seat out of a tree with a chainsaw and sat in it," Grantaire chuckled and full out laughed at Enjolras' jaw dropping open.

"I don't want to know how you managed that," Enjolras sighed shaking his head and Grantaire smirked.

Grantaire followed Enjolras; he didn't think it was the best idea to do something stupid but witty so soon after being caught. Enjolras stormed ahead lost in a world of his own, muttering under his breath obviously about Grantaire. They arrived at a little on campus café and Enjolras ushered him in. "You will sit there, you will say nothing. Do not do anything stupid!" Enjolras hissed sternly, pointing to a table in the corner. Grantaire shrugged sitting down and pulling out his ever faithful sketch pad. He could hear Enjolras and his friends talking about the new delinquent on the block but nothing like that bothered him anymore, it was like water off a birds wings. His art was all that mattered anymore, his art and Jean Henri. So he drew; he just sat there tuning out the conversation and drew whatever came to mind. He saw Enjolras talking with his eyes blazing like wild forest fires; and that was what was formed on the page in front of him. Enjolras' passion flowed through his pencil and spread all over the page in an every growing scene.

He didn't notice all the figures stop talking at the noise of his almost frantic pencil. The page was his world, his colouring pencils were spread all over the table and colour just made it more real. He only broke out of his daze when a hand rested on his shoulder. He snapped awake and covered the picture instantly. "Nicolas, what you drawing?" Jehan asked with a smile, leaning over Grantaire's shoulder.

"It's none of your business!" he shouted, knocking the one he knew was Jehan's hand off his shoulder. He leapt to his feet in a rage; his art was his sanctuary and no one was to disturb that little piece of him no one had ruined. And it was his secret; his foster parents hated it. They said it was a hobby not worth pursuing and he should spend his time academically. His teachers hated his obsessions with the colours, also saying that he should improve academically instead of useless pursuits. But no one would steal this one thing from him.

He gathered up his sketchbook but sheets fluttered to the floor in a whirlwind. He had had that book for five years and it was falling to pieces at the seams. The pages were falling out and he was running out of pages but his foster parents wouldn't give him pocket money anymore and he had no money of his own. He dived to pick them up but others beat him to it. They slowly picked up pages and gawped at his work. Grantaire panicked picking them all up and pulling them out of everyone's hands and shoving them in the book as quickly as he could. Enjolras was the one left with a sheet; it was his drawing of the whole Musain, the one that started this problem. He was staring at it inquisitively and Grantaire instantly felt self-conscious over his work. He snatched it out of Enjolras' thin spindly fingers and slapped Enjolras smack across the face. Enjolras' automatically went to his cheek and he stared shocked at the fuming smaller student. His knuckles were white as he was clenching his precious book so tight. "Never look at my work!" He screamed at the bemused Enjolras. Grantaire found himself shaking and turned to hurry out if the Musain. "R! Wait!" Jehan shouted grabbing Grantaire's shoulder. With one effortless movement, Jehan was sprawled on the floor and the door was swinging in Grantaire's wake. Everyone stood silently, trying to comprehend what had just happened. It took a minute or so before Enjolras jumped back to action chasing after Grantaire.

"Nicolas! Wait!" Enjolras shouted chasing after the retreating figure. Grantaire stopped and spun around angrily.

"F**k off Enjolras!" Grantaire shouted with his eyes raging like a fierce storm. Enjolras froze once again; he had never heard or seen Grantaire anything like this. This was the kind of behaviour that could get you expelled.

"I don't get what was so wrong?" Enjolras defended himself, his temper rising along with Grantaire's.

"No one looks at my art without permission," Grantaire snarled, walking off once again.

"But it's wonderful!" Enjolras exclaimed but Grantaire was disappearing into the fog. "I'm supposed to be keeping both eyes on you!" He screamed again and just received a finger up in response.

Later that night Enjolras returned to find Grantaire fast asleep, curled around his sketch book and a flask. Enjolras rolled his eyes and collapsed onto his bed, facing the wall. A piece on paper crumbled underneath his body; Enjolras grumbled to himself about Grantaire's messiness. It was a singular sheet of paper with only an arrow pointing upwards drawn on it. Enjolras slowly looked up and gasped. The whole of the previously white ceiling was painted like a perfect night's sky. Not a star nor speck was out of place; Enjolras loved it and found himself grinning like a mad man. He had never been a man for the arts; he loved music and could sing but it was never really his thing. But this was beauty. Enjolras fell asleep staring at the stars with a calm smile on his face as his eyes fluttered closed.

The next morning, Enjolras woke up to find Grantaire hanging from the thankfully study light fitting as he edited his night's sky mural. Enjolras sighed and shook his head as he sat up. "You break it, you pay for it," Enjolras grumbled and received no response from the dangling drunkard. "And no alcohol on campus," he added after a thought as he walked into the bathroom. Still no response from his new roommate. Enjolras quickly showered and got ready for that day at school; silently praying it was be less eventful than the previous one. He deserved a medal that Grantaire hadn't blown up the school yet. When he left the bathroom, Grantaire was half-heartedly brushing through his unruly brown locks in an attempt to at least look respectable. Enjolras did have to admit that the other man did look quite fetching in not paint-stained clothes. He had attempted to smarten up for his first real day at school but Enjolras could tell that all his clothes were tatty hand me downs especially when compared to Enjolras' smart yet casual look. Enjolras looked between the ceiling and Grantaire; the artist and with art.

"Why do you not want anyone to look at your art?" Enjolras blurted out after a long drawn out silence. Grantaire sighed and his head drooped slightly.

"It is barely worth pursuing as a hobby," he sighed with a shrug and Enjolras frowned with confusion.

"My foster parents hate it. They say that art and music are worthless and I should work on academic pursuits instead of worthless frivolities. If I ever showed anyone my work then I would be grounded and have all my supplies and pieces taken away. It is a default reaction now," he explained and Enjolras nodded. Inside he was fuming; no one deserves to be treated like that. No matter what they have done, that should not be happening.

"What have you got first?" Enjolras asked Grantaire, mostly to make some form of less awkward conversation.

"Business, Economics and Politics," Grantaire read on his timetable and Enjolras smiled slightly.

"You're with me, I'll show you the way," he stated and Grantaire smiled.

"Thanks, Apollo," he muttered and Enjolras frowned.

"Apollo?" he questioned but the door was already swinging in Grantaire's wake.


	3. Chapter 3

_**11/10/13**_

**Sorry its late guys**

**Chapter 3**

Grantaire followed Enjolras into their Politics and Business class and sunk down into a chair at the back of the classroom while Enjolras took his seat at the front. Grantaire was passed on exercise book by the teaching assistant and he nodded in thanks. He pulled out the textbook that he hadn't even opened and started doodling as the lesson began. He effortlessly tuned out the teacher's speech and turned the whole of the front of his exercise book in to a detailed and monotonous drawing of an execution square, fitted with guillotine. It grew and grew as he added in people and the shaded figure of the executioner. "Nicolas Grantaire!" the teacher snapped and his head shot up.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?" he asked with one of his charming smiles. It didn't work on the strick old politics teacher but a few of the girls in the class giggled. It seemed boarding school girls liked charming bad boys.

"I asked whether you had any opinions on why the first French revolution failed and turned into the reign of terror," she sighed expecting a not very witty and highly sarcastic answer.

"Because of the corrupt human nature," he stated with a shrug as he threw his feet onto the table; and he wasn't stopping there.

"Any person you give power to will become corrupt no matter how pure their intentions seem at the start. Robspierre is a wonderful example of this. Pre-revolution he was a shining beacon of hope that would lead then all to a better world. Then he got a taste of power. And instead of an equal world, he tried to create his ideal. This was through the Reign of Terror, which he deemed the best course of action. He said that government during a revolution is virtue combined with terror: virtue, without which terror is destructive; terror, without which virtue is impotent. Terror is only justice prompt, severe and inflexible; it is then an emanation of virtue; it is less a distinct principle than a natural consequence of the general principle of democracy, applied to the most pressing wants of the country. Which basically said that if you want the dream then you have to live through hell first. Which we all know is a load of bull. Our subconscious lies to us and craves power. And if your mind has even the slightest taste you are lost. No uprising of the people will ever succeed as a power hungry tyrant will be born from the fruits of war," he finished and everyone gawped; especially Enjolras. No one had expected that from the rebel lingering at the back.

"And for that passionate outburst," the teacher practically snarled. "Everyone must write a two thousand word essay on that question," she ordered and everyone groaned, mostly Grantaire.

"But I've already answered," Grantaire protested, ignoring the glare from the teacher.

"And you will answer it again in writing," she stated but Grantaire would not back down.

"No I won't," he replied with just a small shrug.

"You have no right to refuse me!" the teacher screamed. "Get out!" she shouted, pointing to the door. Enjolras rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. That boy could not stay out of trouble if his life depended on it. Grantaire just left and slammed the door in his wake. The class fell silent and all started writing their essays to try and stay away from their teacher's wrath.

"What was that?" Enjolras exclaimed when he picked Grantaire up from the headmaster's office once again.

"I didn't want to write the essay," Grantaire shrugged; even though he knew that wasn't what Enjolras was talking about. He knew about his babysitter's obsession with an equal France and revolution.

"I was meaning your little speech," he hissed, obviously fuming from Grantaire's outburst.

"It is what I feel Enjolras," Grantaire stated, again infuriatingly emotionless.

"Robespierre was a great man! How dare you mock him so?" Enjolras shouted, now unable to keep his emotions in check.

"Your idol was a paranoid hypocrite," Grantaire shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Enjolras' mounting anger. "And I am sorry that you are so blind to his multiple flaws. The facts speak the truth mon ami," he added before fully turning to face Enjolras. "Sorry but I am definitely not on the radical's bandwagon," Grantaire stated before he stepped into the art classroom for his punishment.

Miss Nord was on him in an instant; the _Cinquième_ students were slowly filtering in to the class and Grantaire looked scornfully at the twelve to thirteen year olds who gawped at him. News had travelled fast of the rebel's arrival and misadventures. "Nicolas! Pleasure to meet you. It is years since we had an art scholarship student," he grinned shaking his hand. Grantaire just shrugged jumped up onto the table.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked bluntly and frowned when the teacher blushed.

"Well, actually … the students are trying to paint with your style," she admitted and Grantaire's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"W-what?" he stuttered, finding himself completely speechless.

"I saw your piece in the Musée d'Art Moderne and thought the students would benefit learning a modern but classical art style. This was before I knew you had got a scholarship," she grinned looking up at him. Grantaire winced, he never meant for that piece to get displayed. He entered a competition to get himself new art supplies and some money, not realising that one of the prizes was to have your work displayed in the Musée d'Art Moderne . That got him a couple of slaps.

"So you want me to help them copy my work?" he asked sceptically and she shook her head.

"Not copy your work, incorporate your style into their own work," Miss Nord corrected him and he nodded.

Grantaire remained sat on the table as the children filtered in; he now knew the reason for their shocked looks. He was dozing off into his own world before a small body hit him in a hug. Grantaire fell backwards in shock before looking at the figure. "Gav?" Grantaire shouted with his eyes widening even more. Gavroche Thenardier was clutching to his chest as if his life depended on it. Grantaire had been landed back in the Children's Home when Gavroche and his two sisters, Eponine and Azelma, had been dumped there. Grantaire had taken the younger boy under his wing until he was fostered once again.

"R! I knew it was you! I knew it!" he shouted with a grin, all the other students were staring but neither boy cared.

"How are you here?" Grantaire asked, still shocked.

"A charity gave money for my Eppy and Zelma to come to this boarding school," he giggled and Grantaire grinned. Eponine had been his only constant and was still his best friend.

"Gavroche will you please take your seat," Miss Nord sighed and Gavroche reluctantly released Grantaire and sat down.

"Now class, we have a special guest coming into some of your lessons for the next three weeks," she explained as Grantaire remained sitting on the table swinging his legs. "This is Nicolas Grantaire, whose work you have been studying for a few weeks," she smiled, loading a picture of his painting on the board. Grantaire was sure he must have miss heard her; they couldn't be studying him. When he was their age he was studying Monet, De Vinci, all the classics. Not some piece of some unknown artists' works. He had to admit it was one of his better works; it was of his bedroom in his foster home. That place was full of so many bad memories so he just let it pour out of him onto canvas. It was dark and distorted with burnt reds standing out against the dark shades. Grantaire closed his eyes as the memories poured back into his mind. "And he is going to be looking at your pieces and helping you master his style," she giggled and he mock saluted the class. The students gave him a short round of applause before diving into their pieces. He walked round them all, genuinely interested, and found some stunning artist but they were all using their own styles not his. Most were too clear; block lines and clear colours, not the fuzzy shading he always used. Miss Nord tapped him on the shoulder with her petit hands. "Would I be able to see any more of your work?" she asked softly and Grantaire tightened. He hated to show people his pieces; but she seemed to genuinely admire his art. Grantaire pulled out his phone and loaded up his anonymous tumblr for her. He had them on the web just to get the constant support of people saying his work was good; but his name or details were missing to hide it from the world and mostly his foster parents.

He plugged his phone into the interactive whiteboard and set his interactive album on slideshow to show the teacher and the students. Everyone stopped to watch and seemed to genuinely enjoy it. Grantaire ushered the teacher to the side. "Please don't tell any of the other teachers or my foster parents about this," he mumbled and she nodded.

"Of course Nicolas; and if you ever want anywhere to work or any supplies. This room is yours," she smiled and Grantaire found himself smiling back at her.

"Call me R," he stated, finally finding a teacher he trusted.


	4. Chapter 4

_**17/10/13**_

**Sorry I didn't publish at the weekend. Crazy life as my mum has just had an operation and both my betas are busy!**

**Chapter 4**

Grantaire continued teaching the class his little tricks of the trade and for once actually found himself enjoying it. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone who asked; he had a reputation to uphold. But by the end of the lesson, he was dying to teach again and was even tutoring one of the pupils outside of class. He left his sketchbook and canvas in a locked cupboard, in Miss Nord's safe hands. Enjolras was waiting outside and was certainly not expecting to see Grantaire walk out of the room with a spring in his step. "Come on Pollo, we have English!" Grantaire chirped walking straight past him. Enjolras gawped slightly before darting after him in a hurry.

"What's happened to you?" Enjolras asked, finally catching up again.

"What do you mean?" Grantaire asked with one eyebrow raised at the taller man.

"You're all, all happy," Enjolras almost stuttered, waving his hands at Grantaire in confusion. The confusion grew even more when Grantaire actually laughed in response. Enjolras had never heard Grantaire laugh before; and he liked it. He had a musical laugh that resonated with a ring to it and made Enjolras want to laugh along with him. Of course he didn't; he had a reputation to uphold.

By the time the pair reached their English class, Enjolras noticed Grantaire sinking back into his nonchalant and rebellious attitude. Enjolras felt his heart sink against his will; Grantaire seemed to be a pleasure to be around when he was happy but he hated this cynical side of the artist. Mood swings would be a serious understatement when describing him. Grantaire took a seat at the back of the classroom and Enjolras sat on the front row, as usual. The teacher walked in and took his seat at the front, behind his desk and eyed the class sternly. "Pull out your books to page one hundred and six," he ordered without a second thought. Grantaire moaned to himself. He tried to slide his headphone in, to listen to the audio version, instead of reading. "Nicolas Grantaire! What are you doing?" the teacher shouted storming up the aisle towards his target. Grantaire slid the earphone out of his ear with a wince. "We do not allow listening to music here," he hissed, pushing the book towards Grantaire. "And for that you can read first, page one hundred and six," he stated, Grantaire froze.

"Urr, no," Grantaire replied bluntly. The teacher glared at him with a ferocious intensity.

"You have to do what I say Nicolas," he practically snarled at the new rebel in the class.

"Urr, no," he repeated again and the class fell silent. Grantaire was hauled out of his seat with a firm grip to his arm.

Grantaire was frog marched down the corridor with the English teacher furiously ranting in his ear the whole way. He tuned out the words and drifted into his own thoughts once again; they were a much nicer place than this hell he was living. He found himself sat in that painfully uncomfortable chair in the Headmaster's office for the second time in two days. "Nicolas I don't know what to do with you," Javert muttered and Grantaire just shrugged using his default response to any allegation. "You'll have to go in solitary detention for two days," he added with what sounded like a sigh. His English teacher left and Headmaster Javert marched his down to the cells. They weren't called cells but that was the concept; solitary was where they locked you in a room alone and gave you work to do. Grantaire had no intentions of doing the work but he was very familiar with what it entails.

Enjolras left his English lesson and dragged his feet to the Headmaster's office to pick up his charge. He hated this job but he was warming to the boy he was in charge of; even if he infuriated him most of the time. He knocked on Javert's door and was called in. He let out a deep sigh and slowly pushe the door open. "I'm here to pick up Nicolas sir," Enjolras sighed while standing straight and firm in the doorway.

"You are relieved of your duties looking after him, Julien. And he will not be back in your room for a few days," Javert explained and Enjolras' heart dropped against his will. He should be happy that he didn't need to babysit the rebel anymore. But yet he couldn't bring himself to be. Javert dismissed him and he walked out almost in a trance. He wanted to be happy and couldn't get his mind round why he wasn't. In his daze, Enjolras made his first mistake. He didn't look where he was going and walked straight into the school's biggest thug.

Gueulemer was not to be messed with; the last person that did ended up in the hospital for two weeks. "What you think you're doing faggot?" Gueulemer snarled, grabbing Enjolras' shirt collar and lifts him off the floor.

"Sorry Gueulemer. Just wasn't looking where I was walking," he apologised, hoping in vain to avoid an incident.

"I'll have to teach you a lesson then won't I blondie," he hissed and Enjolras braced himself for a punch. A shrill whistle caused both men to flinch and to turn round. Grantaire was stood about a foot behind Gueulemer with that smirk on his face that meant he was about to do something stupid.

"Hey fatso!" He shouted and Enjolras winced. Gueulemer snarled in anger and his fist tightened. "No wonder Enjolras walked into you, you fill the whole corridor!" He shouted and within seconds Enjolras was on the floor and Grantaire was wrestling with Gueulemer in the middle of the corridor. The littler man was able to avoid most of Gueulemer's blows but the giant was soon able to pin him down and batter his little body.

Enjolras shouted for someone to come help and tried to prise the men of each other but by the time Headmaster Javert arrived, Grantaire's body was already broken and limp. Gueulemer was escorted off and an ambulance called. Gueulemer struggled against the teacher's grip and spat on Grantaire's limp body; Enjolras felt rage build in him but it wouldn't help to have him in the same state as Grantaire. Gueulemer had never flipped out on anyone like that before but no one had intentionally insulted him. Guilt welled in Enjolras' stomach at the sight of Grantaire being pulled onto a stretcher and he found himself asking Headmaster Javert if he could go to the hospital to be with him.

Enjolras sat silently in Miss Nord's car, watching the world go by. The young art teacher had instantly volunteered to be the adult responsible for making sure Grantaire was alright and was allowed to take one friend of Grantaire's with her. Enjolras was the closest person to a friend Grantaire had. But when he arrived, he didn't expect to see a sobbing school boy sat in the waiting room, waiting to see Grantaire. The mysterious boy looked up at the two visitors and Enjolras instantly recognised him. "Jean-Henri?" Enjolras asked and the boy tightened.

"How do you know me?" Jean-Henri asked tensely as Enjolras sat down.

"Grantaire always talked about you and I recognised you from the drawing he showed me," Enjolras explained looking at the floor. "How did you get here so quickly?" Enjolras added and Jean almost broke into tears once again.

"I convinced my parents to let me come up during our half term holidays to see him. He said he hated it here and I missed him," Jean sobbed, Enjolras rested a hand on his shoulder. He never knew what he should do in emotional situations like this. His body became rigid as the overly trusting boy leant on his shoulder for comfort.

"You're his friend aren't you?" Jean-Henri asked with what looked like a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Enjolras looked down at Grantaire's boyfriend and studied the boy. He obviously caring and thoroughly in love like Grantaire was but also studious and law abiding, something Grantaire was certainly not. Jean-Henri should be good for the rebel; being in a stable relationship would help him have a stable life. Enjolras nodded as not to break the small boy's heart. "Look after him for me, please. He is self-destructive and needs someone responsible to watch over him," Jean practically begged and again Enjolras found himself bending to Jean's will. He found himself thinking of Jehan when he saw the boy clinging to his arm; they could be twins, the way they manipulated him with pouts and puppy dog was uncannily similar. And he also found himself warming to Jean-Henri and wanting to comfort the sobbing boy. He awkwardly pulled Jean-Henri in a soft embrace and let the boy cry onto his shoulder. Neither child noticed a doctor walking into the waiting room. "Are you the friends and family of Nicolas Grantaire?" he asked and all three of them snapped fully awake again.


	5. Chapter 5

_**22/10/13**_

**Hey again, Chapter 5. Hope you enjoy! I keep on forgetting to mention this but I am always welcome to hear if there is anything you want in this story or any constructive criticism, fire away mes amis!**

**Chapter 5**

The teacher and the two school boys were lead down a silent, sickeningly white hospital corridor. Enjolras found himself twitching nervously and becoming all fidgety; he had never been like this before. He didn't even really know his new roommate; all he knew was that he was an artist, a rebel and had a caring boyfriend. And still he couldn't stop being jumpy as they walked. Jean-Henri stood close to Enjolras as if he was seeking comfort from the obviously stronger man. Enjolras lightly brushed the small boy's arm, as much comfort as Enjolras' marble exterior could give. Miss Nord pushed the door open and Jean-Herni burst into sobs again.

Grantaire was laid in the middle of a pristine white hospital bed. Wires and tubes protruded out if his frail body and a range of coloured bruises coated his sickly pale skin. The worse being around the right side if his face. He was drowsily awake but he eyes fluttered wider with a pained smile when he saw his three visitors. "Henri?" He questioned, believing his eyes were deceiving him.

"It's me Nicolas," Jean-Henri smiled sinking next to him and cradling his bandaged hand in his own.

"What are you doing here?" Grantaire asked with his radiant smile. Enjolras felt his heart flutter at the smile and felt an irrational urge to do everything in his power to make the artist smile like that again. He quickly shook the thought out of his mind.

"My parents said I could come up for a day in half term," Jean smiled softly and Grantaire's smile grew even further. This time he couldn't suppress a wince.

Jean-Henri's smile instantly vanished and was replaced with concern and pain for his other half. Grantaire softly rubbed his lover's hand and smiled softly again. "Worse things have happened at sea," he smiled and Jean burst out laughing.

"Cheer up you old bugger, c'mon give us a grin," he replied softly and pecked Grantaire on the padding round his nose. Enjolras frowned at the seeming random turn this conversation had taken. Enjolras sat there like a third wheel until Grantaire was drifting asleep again. Jean-Henri said his goodbyes as he had to go home with his parents. Now it was just Enjolras and Grantaire sat in the silent room; Enjolras stood to leave but he was stopped by a weak touch to the arm. "Please stay," Grantaire mumbled with his golden eyes hardly open. Enjolras could not deny his saviour's request and sat in Jean-Henri's empty chair. Grantaire forced his eyes open and looked at Enjolras. "Why did you come?" He murmured, weakly.

"Because you saved me," Enjolras replied without a seconds hesitation. "What sort of a friend would I be if I left you here alone after you saved me," he added, Grantaire's eyes lit up.

"You see, me as a ... Friend?" He asked, shocked. Enjolras hadn't realised he said friend, but he did really want to be friend's with Grantaire and get to know the rebel more. Enjolras nodded with a small smile.

"You're my roommate," he shrugged casually. "Why did you do that for me?" Enjolras blurted out the thought that had been on his mind since he sat in Miss Nord's car.

"Because I didn't want you to get hurt," he admitted, playing with the bed sheet. They feel into an awkward silence while Grantaire struggled to stay awake.

"Go to sleep R," Enjolras sighed, pulling the covers over him. Grantaire finally gave in and his eyes fluttered shut

XXX

It was weeks before Grantaire was back in school but Enjolras went to see him at the hospital nearly every day. The injured rebel arrived back at school only to meet Headmaster Javert at the doorstep. "Nicolas, my office please," he stated, spinning on his heels and prowling back down the corridor. Grantaire walked as quickly as he could with the crutches but there was no way he could keep up with the seemingly angry headmaster. He had only been in the school two minutes; for once he wasn't consciously doing something wrong. After what seemed like an hour long hobble through the school, the duo arrived at the headmaster's office and Grantaire gratefully sunk into the chair. "Despite your injuries and your time away from school, we have not forgotten about your punishment. This has not changed the matter at all and you will still be placed in solitary for two weeks of school time with your after school time, tutoring art students and helping Miss Nord," Headmaster Javert explained, ruthlessly; he was taking no prisoners today. Grantaire wished the hospital hadn't dismissed him; he liked it there in the calm. "Understand?" The headmaster almost snarled and Grantaire reluctantly nodded along. He was marched, still at a ridiculous pace, down the corridor into solitary confinement, or isolation, whatever you want to call it.

All that was inside the room was a desk with piles of work on, a cupboard and a chair. Plain walls, plain floor; as boring as you can get. Grantaire sat in the chair and stared at the work; there was no way any of that was getting done. But alas the headmaster said that to be let out at the end of the day he had to have finished one piece of work. He slowly sifted through the pile, discarding most of the pieces without a second glance. A piece of paper slowly drifted out of the pile and floated like a feather to the floor. Casually Grantaire bent over, wincing with the pain and picked up the lone piece of paper. It was his art assignment, every lesson he took would give him some work to do each day. He never thought about the fact both art and music would. Grantaire smirked and read the piece of paper: You are to create a piece based on any artist with a piece of work in a famous gallery. It can be on anything you want and you are able to ask the supervising teacher for any extra supplies to the ones in the cupboard. Grantaire's spirits rose; maybe he would get some work done today.

It was Enjolras who came to pick him up at the end of the day and was tasked with delivering his charge to the art department. What he didn't expect was to find Grantaire sat in the chair covered in charcoal and ink, and scribbling away. Screwed up sheet music coated the floor and a massive half-finished canvas was propped up against the wall. Enjolras gawped at the scene that met him; even half-finished Grantaire's art was stunning. It was currently a ink and charcoal sketch of their dorm room; every detail was right and Enjolras felt as if he was looking through the door now. "Wow," was all Enjolras could say as he stood, looking like a fool, staring. Grantaire sat up, almost panicked and hurriedly threw something over the painting and shoved all his sheet music into a folder.

"Is it that time already?" Grantaire asked, trying desperately to distract Enjolras from his work.

"Um, yeah," he stuttered, still shocked by the quality of Grantaire's work. His attention was then drawn to the sheet music scattered across the floor, that Grantaire quickly tidying up. "I need to talk to you once you have finished at art," Enjolras stated bluntly once Grantaire had pushed all his piece of paper into his rucksack, which he slung over his shoulder with no care to what was contained inside it.  
"What about?" Grantaire asked, lighting a cigarette that he had managed to produce from somewhere. Enjolras batted it out of his hand with an exasperated sigh, earning him a glare from the school's rebel.

"In music we are in partners to create an album. I'm with you," Enjolras explained, ignoring the glare and clearly not appreciating the partnership arrangements.

"I assume you can write music?" he asked after a period of very awkward silence between the two of them. Grantaire nodded. "Any instruments?" he asked again, irritated by the other man's silence.

"Guitar, electric, piano, ukulele, violin and drums," Grantaire listed and smiled slightly at Enjolras subtle impressed expression.

"We have to write and record an album of seven songs, perform one live and record a music video before the end of term in twelve weeks," Enjolras explained as they finally approached the art classroom where his tutees were waiting.

"I'll have the a song ready for Sunday. I'm in town tomorrow," Grantaire stated when they stopped to part ways.

"Where are you going?" Enjolras asked with a frown, he knew full well that Grantaire's parents didn't want to see him and Jean-Henri was back home.

"My cousin is in Paris for the weekend," Grantaire explained with a smile but Enjolras could sense something was not right.

Grantaire turned into the classroom and threw his bag and beanie on the hook by the door and threw on his old apron. It's once white fabric hung in almost tatters, smudged with nearly every colour imaginable and clay dust hung to it in clouds. He had used that apron since he was thrown into his first foster home; he stole it from the kitchen of the massive city mansion. It was never missed. His boots were thumped onto the desk as he leant back in his teacher's chair. Today was an art club, he just had to be there if they wanted his help or advice; it was mostly a chance for him to work. Today he felt the urge to sketch; so he did. He was lost in the flurry of lead on paper; so much so, that he didn't notice a girl stand behind him and watch him work. "Excuse me, R?" she spoke up with a sweet angelic voice. His eyes flickered upwards to meet a face that certainly matched the voice. Blonde curls hung round her ears and a golden plait was slung over her shoulder; a tiny spread of pink paint ran above her eyebrow but it did not detract from her radiance. Grantaire needed to paint her but now wasn't the time.

"How may I help you Athena?" Grantaire smiled, dusting the charcoal dust off the end of his fingers. He always spurted out mythological references when flirting; it was weird but seemed to work. She blushed slightly but kept her composure.

"I need your advice on my piece," she stated and he stood up, laying his sketch pad down. Her piece was a great rendition of a sunset. It was stunning but was missing something. "It just doesn't look right," she sighed and turned to him.

"Mind if I?" Grantaire asked, gesturing to the canvas in front of him. He had an idea. She nodded her consent and stepped away, leaving this year's work in the hands of some unknown artist.

Grantaire mixed a gold yellow like the sun's rays and darted away. The student frowned after him in confusion as he slid on his knees and swung open the cupboard doors. All the others had gathered round the strange display and were whispering amongst themselves. He hadn't been there long enough for people to be used to his weird displays in the name of art. He was back a few seconds later with a sponge and brush in his hand. Slowly he applied the paint slightly and dabbed the sponge just below the horizon and as shading on the clouds. And suddenly it was transformed from a painting of a sunset to a perfect rendition of the perfect sunset. The girl's eyes lit up and she practically jumped on Grantaire. "R! That's perfect! I never thought of using a sponge," she giggled, pecking him on the cheek. All the other students were murmuring amongst themselves, most about how they could use that technique to their advantage.

"What is your name dear mademoiselle?" Grantaire asked once she had released him.

"Cosette, pleasure to meet ya," she giggled with a stunning grin.

"I think I would like to get to know you better Cosette," he winked.

**A/N – Please say at least one person caught the Monty Python reference … please?**


	6. Chapter 6

_**31/10/13**_

**So guys, this is unbeta'd as some times I am an idiot and forgot to send it off … sorry. Plus I have set up a Review blog :) it's called reviewmania . blog . com (minus the spaces); please go read and show your support as well as spreading the news about it. At the moment there is only one review on there but it will grow. **

**Obviously, the songs mentioned in this were not written by Grantaire … I don't know why I really had to point this out. Also due to fanfiction rules I am not permitted to put song lyrics in this fanfiction so I advise when reading certain sections that you listen to the songs as you read the descriptions … it'll make more sense that way. Plus I will put a song list at the beginning of each chapter to tell you the real singer/songwriter to make it easier.**

_**Try This At Home – Frank Turner (Grantaire wrote)**_

_**When The Stars Go Blue – Ryan Adams (Cover)**_

_**American Pie - Don Maclean (Grantaire wrote)**_

**Chapter 6**

That session proceeded without any flaws and at the end Grantaire set them a challenge. They had to create a piece of art without using pens, pencils or brushes before the next meeting. They had all accepted the task with open arms after his display of skill. That's what you learnt when brushes and fancy pencils were not readily accessible, you can paint with everything. Enjolras was leaning on the wall outside the classroom when Grantaire left after all the students. "Do you want to head up to the music room?" Enjolras asked and only received a small shrug in response. Enjolras rolled his eyes, now getting used to Grantaire's displays of indifference and learning to live with them. Because he would have to deal with this side of Grantaire to be able to see his good side; the times where he smiled, when he was painting, when he was happy. They walked in silence to their rooms as Grantaire said he had to pick up something; any enquires as to what that something was, were shot down immediately. He would just have to wait and see. What he wasn't expecting was for Grantaire to walk of their room with a guitar case resting on his shoulder. The worn, black fabric case was covered with drawings and painted scenes and had obviously served its owner for a long time. "When did that get here?" Enjolras asked, he hadn't seen it in their room before.

"Jean-Henri brought it up with him," Grantaire replied with a blunt uncaring attitude.

"Why couldn't you bring it with you?" he asked again. Enjolras needed to know more about his roommate; and if Grantaire wasn't going to divulge, he would have to add more pressure.

"My parents don't like how my hobbies cost money, they have often threatened to take it and sell it. It was safe with Jean-Henri until I got settled," Grantaire explained and Enjolras was about to delve deeper when they arrived at the music corridor.

One of the practice rooms was free so Grantaire leant his guitar in corner and jumped onto the piano stool. He had missed playing; his old school had an awful music program and had one broken piano. Needless to say, his foster parents would never spend money on buying his a piano; he was never there anyway. "Do you have anything written?" Enjolras asked as Grantaire rummaged in the mass of papers that flooded out of his worn guitar case.

"Just one at the moment. It's called Try This At Home and it needs drums and piano for the full effect but it works okay with just guitar for practicing," he explained finally producing sheet music with the lyrics on for Enjolras. "You are okay with singing from sheet?" Grantaire checked and Enjolras nodded. Grantaire pulled out his guitar with a tender care that it seemed none of his other belongings received. It was covered in printed lyrics, drawings and anything really; it seemed like a chaos but all the decorations seemed to flow surprisingly coherently. Enjolras quickly read through the music and nodded and Grantaire to start. His fingers flew over the strings and Enjolras was amazed at the speed he could play. Enjolras started singing and smiled as Grantaire's playing faltered in shock. Enjolras knew his voice was different to what people expected; it was quite a high tone but resonated power like you would hear from a tenor. The song flowed easily from his lips and it felt like they were in a microcosm where just the music mattered. Until Grantaire played the final cord and the world appeared around them once again.

Grantaire returned to his stoical expression and put his guitar away. "I'll have the next one done by Sunday Morning, shall we practice again then?" he asked calmly as if that wonder of music had never happened. Enjolras snapped out of his daze and nodded.

"Sure, where are you going out tomorrow?" Enjolras asked curiously, he didn't think that the headmaster would allow Grantaire out while he was being punished.

"It's my cousin's birthday and I'm out for the day with him," Grantaire explained and Enjolras nodded but some reason the tale did not ring true. He might be going out into Paris tomorrow then … not to follow Grantaire. Definitely not. Grantaire intrigued him, he was a strange child and Enjolras did not do well with mysteries and he had to find some way of solving them. Maybe this weekend would go further to unravelling his secrets. They walked in silence back to the room as Enjolras schemed for the weekend. The headmaster was unable to say no to Marcus Enjolras' only son for fear that it may hinder the funding that the school received. Enjolras hated it but he had to admit that it did help some times.

The next morning, Enjolras watched Grantaire leave from their window. He had his worn black denim jacket slung over his shoulders and the guitar case handing over his back. If he really was going to meet his cousin then why would he take a guitar? Something still didn't ring true with Grantaire reasoning and excuses. Enjolras pulled on his own coat and used his prefect's pass to leave the school gates. As a prefect he didn't need the headmaster's permission to leave school grounds and he could take two people at a time with him as well. Very useful at times. He jumped on his bike and cycled down into the city. It wasn't too far and Enjolras knew that if he took the short cuts then he could beat the bus and be down their ready for Grantaire's arrival. Enjolras sped down hills and leapt walls and arrived as the bus was due. He chained the bike up and sat under a tree, the other side of the road to the bus stop. The bus arrived on time as it always did and Grantaire was one of the first off it. He was smiling like Enjolras had never seen him smile before as the sun streamed through the gap in the clouds onto Paris.

The young artist strolled through the streets, oblivious to his tail. Enjolras walked about three metres behind him with a fedora quenching his blonde curls and sun glasses covering his face. It wasn't long before Grantaire suddenly stopped. He had a coffee in hand and propped his guitar case up against the wall. Carefully he rested the guitar over his shoulders and the case was rested on the floor. Enjolras gawped, it was obvious; Grantaire was busking. After one more swig of his coffee, he put it next to the guitar case. When the Stars Go Blue echoed out from his guitar over the bustle of the noisy streets; and Grantaire was entirely focused on the music. Enjolras sat on a bench a decent distance away from the musician and listened. He had never heard Grantaire sing before; he didn't even know Grantaire could sing. But Grantaire could definitely sing. His voice was strong and powerful and it was as if he could magically harmonise with himself. Enjolras couldn't believe Grantaire had kept this to himself and seemed to be ashamed of a remarkable skill. He was transfixed by the hypnotising power of Grantaire's voice that he didn't notice the sky clouding over and the song changing. "Here' a little something I wrote, it's called American Pie," Grantaire stated to a small crowd that had gathered around him. Slowly coins were dropping into his guitar case as he began strumming. Enjolras perked up and grinned, that had to be something he had written for the album and it was wonderful. The song was purely magnificent that Enjolras was sad when it ended; never before had music moved him in the way it did when Grantaire sung.

As his roommate set the guitar down and pulled out his art supplies, seemingly to sell his work or commissions, Enjolras dared approach him. The richer boy calmly dropped a fifty euro note into Grantaire's guitar case. The artist looked at the note and slowly lifted his head. "What are you doing here?" Grantaire asked, clearly shocked. He pulled the note out of the case and attempted to give it back but Enjolras adamantly refused.

"You need it more than I do. And your voice is beautiful," Enjolras smiled slightly and sat down next to Grantaire on the dirty street.

"What are you doing here?" Grantaire asked again; this time without displaying any emotion and if there was a flicker of anything it had to be mild irritation, nothing more.

"I was looking for a present for a friend's birthday and heard beautiful music so came to listen," Enjolras lied effortlessly. "What are you doing here?" Enjolras asked, looking at Grantaire's painting display.

"I have a license!" Grantaire exclaimed, rummaging in his pockets for his street vendor and busking licenses.

"I don't mean that," Enjolras brushed it off. "I mean why do you do this. Surely your parents would provide for you; send you pocket money?" he added as a minor after thought.

"Yeah … that's not gonna happen," he mumbled and Enjolras encouraged him to say more. "They're my foster parents," he began with a sigh and Enjolras' eyebrows raised. "They get paid to look after me. A grant to pay for my food, clothes, pocket money and all that; but Lucy and Matt just take it for themselves and not look after me at all. I have to scrounge food off them, clothes come out of my own purse and I get no pocket money. Shipping me off here was getting rid of my expenses entirely," he mumbled, obviously ashamed and upset but the guarded expression still reigned dominant on his face. Enjolras felt deeply guilty for bringing up such a sensitive topic but he was definitely glad for the information to help unravel the mysteries shrouding his new roommate.

"Come on, I'll buy you coffee," Enjolras smiled slightly and put down the book of art he was holding. Grantaire shook his head adamantly.

"I will not take your pity," he stated and carried on drawing without moving.

"It is not pity, it is manners. I am going to buy a coffee and it would be impolite not to offer to buy my friend one as well," Enjolras shrugged, drawing a small smile out of a miserable Grantaire. Grantaire emptied out his case into his pocket and again attempted to slide the fifty euro note into Enjolras' pocket. "Keep it Grantaire, I am just paying you for a service," Enjolras protested and pressed it firmly into Grantaire's hand as the other boy rose with all his supplies and his guitar.

"I won't forget this Enjolras," Grantaire nodded as he pressed the precious note into his pocket with the other change he had been given. They walked in silence to the coffee shop round the corner from Grantaire's favourite busking spot. Grantaire sat down in one of the settees and waiting for Enjolras. Enjolras arrived with two coffees and two sandwiches despite Grantaire's protests. It was obvious to the more privileged man that Grantaire was resisting the urge to wolf down the sandwich. School meals were nice but they were small and unfilling; not enough sustenance to last someone all day on two meals. At their school, breakfast and tea were provided in the fees but lunches have to be bought by the students themselves. Obviously Grantaire hadn't been buying lunch and the artist's pride was too much for him to ask to borrow money. "Just eat it Grantaire," Enjolras rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Grantaire reluctantly wolfed down the sandwich but looked considerably better after it. "Taire?" Enjolras asked tenderly.

"Yes Pollo?" Grantaire replied, warming his worn fingers on the coffee.

"Will you tell me about your life?" Enjolras asked.


	7. Chapter 7

_**7/11/13**_

**Thanks for the support but I do beg of you that if you like it then review, if you don't then review to tell me why. I love this fic but the motivation is lacking if no one else does.**

_**Love, Ire and Song – Frank Turner**_

**Chapter 7**

Grantaire fell silent and his head drooped as it looked like he was examining the swirling patterns in the froth of his coffee. His thin loopy fringe slid over his hazel eyes, shielding them from the world. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Enjolras apologised and after a short awkward pause, continued. "It's just no one knows anything about you," he attempted to justify his actions.

"No, you're right. I can't expect you to live with me if you know nothing about me," Grantaire nodded and took a deep breath to calm his speeding heart. No one knew all about his past; he was a live in the present sort of person. He never dredged the scars of the past and no one else seemed to care. But it felt right to tell Enjolras, he needed to get it all out and no one had ever cared enough to ask before. "What do you want to know?" Grantaire asked, sitting up straighter once he had taken a few moments to compose himself.

"I dunno … everything I guess," Enjolras smiled and Grantaire rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

"We might be here for a while then," Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras just smiled and ordered two more coffees. "

We have plenty of time until the shop shuts," Enjolras replied and sipped his coffee.

"Well I was born on the nineteenth of August nineteen ninety seven in Middlesbrough, England," Grantaire began and Enjolras was already surprised.

"You're English?" he exclaimed and Grantaire chuckled.

"Don't sound like it, do I?" he smirked as his voice drifted back into his natural Northern English accent. Enjolras' eyebrows shot up.

"You are full of surprises, Nicolas Grantaire," Enjolras shook his head in disbelief.

"Anyway, my dad was a policeman and my mum worked in a bookshop so that she could be home to look after me and my little sister," he explained and shushed Enjolras when the prefect was about to interrupt again. "Yes I have a little sister. She is called Mai and she is nine. We lived happily, we weren't rich but we weren't poor … life was good," Grantaire mumbled and Enjolras knew what was coming next. It had to be something really bad for Grantaire to be scarred in this way. "My father was a dirty cop. He stole drugs from drugs busts and sold them back to dealers. He was caught and put away for ten years. I was nine at the time and Mai was two. Mother because reclusive and depressed; she was fired from her job and we had no money anymore. I stole and sold art to try and keep us all alive. We moved to Bordeaux as that was where my mother was from originally," Grantaire explained; Enjolras remained silent as Grantaire took a moment to calm himself and sipped at his black coffee.

"But one day I was caught, I was ten so the police counted it down to a childish fancy. However they had to tell my parents … no amount of convincing could get them to drop it and sooner than I wanted I found them on the doorstep," Grantaire whispered and Enjolras could easily sense this was a traumatic memory for the shorter man. Enjolras rested his hand on Grantaire's supportively. Usually at this point you would expect Enjolras to tell Grantaire that he didn't need to carry on; but Enjolras was selfish and at times had a heart of polished marble. "My mum wouldn't answer the door so the police made me unlock it. Inside was a mess, beer cans and takeaway wrappers covered every inch of floor space. Mum was sat with a can of beer staring at the TV screen while Mai was sat on the floor crying. She was wearing practically rags and the whole room smelt of urine and vomit. Needless to say, Mai and I were dragged to the nearest care home and my mother was deemed unfit to look after children," he choked and finally a tear dripped down his flushed red cheeks. Even with a marble heart, Enjolras' couldn't force him to continue. "Grantaire, you don't have to tell me," Enjolras whispered, really unsure of what he could do to comfort his roommate. Surprisingly, Grantaire shook his head and cleared his throat quietly. Turmoil was viable in his figure but through the tears in his eyes you could see determination. He lowered his head and wiped away the lone tear.  
"I have to get this out, it was five years ago and still reduces me to this. I'm weak," he stated and looked composed once more. Enjolras attempted to try and persuade Grantaire he wasn't weak but was silenced by Grantaire continuing his tale of woe.

"Two weeks later, my mother killed herself in our apartment as she had nothing to live for now her children had been taken away," Grantaire explained with a deep breath to calm his trembling voice; his eyes dropped away from Enjolras' face and he started tracing indents in the wooden table. There was a reason he didn't talk about this; he saw the news articles, he was too old to have the news softened and be lie to. But yet too young to understand why. Enjolras was stunned to silence and the comforting words were stuck on his tongue. "Mai was adopted a few weeks later by a wonderful couple who adopted because they wanted a child and what was the point in giving birth when there were so many children that needed families," Grantaire stated while he blinked the tears out of his eyes. He seemed to recall this memory with a small smile. "Maddie and Clark are the best things I could wish for her and I even get to fly over and see her for her birthday," Grantaire smiled tenderly at Enjolras. "They live in Avignon as it is quite a way away but I enjoy the yearly trip," he added enthusiastically before the smile dropped from his face once again. "So I lived in a care home in Bordeaux but no one wanted a ten year old criminal. I struggled with school, I never have been good with academia but I could fake my way through. I stayed in that one place and that one school until about a year ago. I was fifteen and with exams I could no longer pretend to understand and keep up. I was bullied a lot and put into detentions for not working and so I fought back. I was expelled for breaking two of someone's ribs in a fist fight. He called me dumbo so I kicked him in the ribs," Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras was secretly impressed at Grantaire's determination to stand up for himself.

"I moved to a school in the town over and the same things happened. I was bullied for being stupid then I stood up for myself; the teachers took the side of the other student. It was at that point I started drinking and smoking. The smoke calmed me down so I wouldn't get into any fights but that then got me expelled … once again," he explained and at the thought Enjolras could see him itching for a cigarette. That was another thing he would have to add to the list of things he needed to stop Grantaire doing; it was going to be a long task, but he wanted to fix this broken teenager. "It was then I finally got fostered," Grantaire continued with his long tale. "Lucy and Matt appeared and they seemed perfect. They were new parents and wanted an older boy who would be able to help them out. I was happy to go but after three months and the social services backed off … they neglected me, took all the foster support money away and spent it on themselves. Every time I protested and tried to tell someone they just said I was rebelling because I missed my parents. After two months at my new school, school number three, I stopped trying. It wasn't worth it any more. I tried learn and get tutors but had no money. I was expelled for not completing a piece of work to an acceptable standard in three weeks," Grantaire explained and his attitude had slowly changed from depression to complete indifference. Without really thinking Enjolras made an offer.

"I can tutor you. I would be happy to help," he smiled as Grantaire gawped.

"Enjolras you are taking on much more than you think," Grantaire attempted to warn him off. Enjolras frowned and tilted his head slightly in confusion. Grantaire started ringing his hands and staring at the spindly digits. Then it hit him.

"You're dyslexic!" Enjolras exclaimed and Grantaire frowned slightly at him. It all fit together; how he reacted when the English teacher asked him to read, why he refused to write the essay, the reason he didn't write down his lyrics.

"What's that mean?" Grantaire frowned and Enjolras' thought froze.

"Has no one else noticed?" Enjolras asked, clearly shocked at Grantaire's admission. Grantaire slowly shook his head in confusion.

"Everyone always just said I was stupid," he stated without an emotion flickering across his face.

"Dyslexia is a very common developmental disorder which can cause learning difficulty in one or more of the areas of reading, writing, and maths," Enjolras explained and Grantaire nodded solemnly.

"That sounds about right," Grantaire sighed and rested his head in his hands. "Can you help?" his muffled voice asked through his hands.

"I'll try," Enjolras stated with a passionate determination; Enjolras lived to help people. A small smile twitched at his lips; maybe this was the turning point he needed to help Grantaire. "Carry on with your story," he encouraged and Grantaire head rose from his hands slightly.

"You still want to hear about me?" Grantaire asked in an almost childlike manner.

"Of course I do. You can't just stop in the middle of the story!" Enjolras exclaimed, trying to cheer Grantaire back up again. Grantaire nodded and took a few deep breaths to calm himself back down again.

"It was after school three I got my first scholarship. It was a music scholarship at a school in Nice. That was where I met Jean-Henri. He is a rich scholar-like boy … quite like you actually," Grantaire stated, his voice had filled with confidence when Jean-Henri entered into the conversation.

"He offered to start helping me with my school work. He was so kind and sweet and clever … I feel in love," Grantaire smiled softly at the memory. "I asked him to our end of year dance and he accepted. I spent all summer with him but when we got back to school we were caught kissing in his room and I was expelled for repeat offenses of breaking the school rules. School four," he stated and, for once when talking about his school life, looked actually remorseful at the memory. "School five was unmemorable and I was expelled for something or other. I was not at school for four weeks until the scholarship letter came through for here … and you know the rest," Grantaire sighed. His face looked lighter; it seemed getting his story off his chest had certainly helped the young rebel.

"That's enough about me!" Grantaire exclaimed spontaneously to break the silence that had fallen on them. "I finished the next song for our album," he stated and pulled out his guitar. "Do you want to hear? It was inspired by me and you," he smiled tenderly. Enjolras looked shocked but nodded fervently. "It's called Love, Ire and Song," Grantaire smiled and began playing and singing. The song was about someone losing passion in the good of human nature but being motivated by the people around him to go do some good again. It did really seem that Grantaire felt that in his heart; that he wasn't cynical through and through. That gave Enjolras and sliver of hope and his smile returned.

"That's wonderful Grantaire, I'll write the lyrics if you sing them to me," Enjolras grinned, determined to help Grantaire with his problem. Grantaire smiled weakly at Enjolras.

"Thanks," he murmured and stood up. "I'll see you back at school," he nodded and left with his bags. Enjolras sighed and ordered another coffee. Now he needed to work out how to tutor a stubborn dyslexic boy.


	8. Chapter 8

_**14/11/13**_

**Wow, the response from last chapter was amazing … I should beg more often ;). But unfortunately I am running out of time to write and running out of prewritten chapters so I am changing my schedule to just update on a Sunday/Monday as of now. Sorry but it helps me be more consistent. **

_**Pure Imagination – Willy Wonka from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory**_

**Chapter 8**

"Come on R," Enjolras sighed as he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "Just five more minutes then we're done," he stated to the fidgeting teenager next to him. "One more page today," he added and Grantaire stopped drumming on the table. When Enjolras had spent the whole night researching ways to teach dyslexic children to read and write he had discovered that Grantaire was a massive comic nerd and just loved to look at the pictures not the words. So Enjolras had run out the next day and bought ten MARVEL graphic novels as a present; as long as Grantaire promised that each day he would read five pages to Enjolras. They were reading MARVEL Now's Iron Man: Believe and it was infuriating. Enjolras knew he needed to be patient with Grantaire but he had to be on constant alert for Grantaire trying to cheat their deal.

"I'm really grateful for you doing this Julien," Grantaire admitted as he turned his attention towards the final page of the day. Grantaire had already learnt how to identify the words and decipher what his mind was doing to the letters. He was slowly learning what words looked like but it was taking time. Writing would take longer to learn but Enjolras had bought Grantaire an Ipad and installed voice recognition software. That meant that Grantaire could type his essays by talking into the device and it would form the words. Already, Enjolras' efforts had brightened the artist's attitude and he was trying to learn now.

Walking into isolation the next day, Grantaire had a small spring in his step. He felt better in himself now he was actually trying to learn and determination rippled through him. Enjolras had made him promise that he would use the audiobook and voice recognition software to write his English essay. For once, he knew in his heart he would come through. Jean-Henri would be so proud of him; he would have to call his boyfriend later to tell him all about it. That day he recited the essay that Enjolras told him too and wrote another impassioned song for their CD; he was on three now and had another one in the works. When Enjolras arrived at the end of the day, Grantaire was straddling his painting, almost in the splits. His body was bent right over to paint a part of his massive canvas in the centre. Enjolras stood gawping in the doorway at Grantaire's flexibility and muscular legs. Grantaire's tight skinny jeans exaggerated his firm muscles and did not do Enjolras any favours when it came to not staring at the artist's backside. Eventually Grantaire stood up straight and spotted Enjolras, giving the slightly younger man a chance to compose himself. Grantaire had a loving, caring boyfriend and Enjolras didn't need a boyfriend; so why was his heart fluttering at Grantaire's little smile?

"Hey Enjie, I wrote the essay," Grantaire grinned, obviously pleased with himself, as he pulled off his painting shirt. Enjolras attempted to look away but not before he saw the pure muscle of Grantaire's chest. If Grantaire didn't work out and play sports then it was clear you would be able to see every single one of his ribs. But instead his whole body was pure muscle; Enjolras couldn't stop staring until Grantaire pulled on a clean t-shirt, obscuring Enjolras' view … Thankfully. Blood flushed to his cheeks unbidden and he lowered his wandering eyes away from his roommate's stunning figure. Grantaire didn't notice the revolutionary's awkwardness and smiled at him before darting out of the door with his bag and a small canvas balanced carefully in his arms. Enjolras shook himself out of his daze and followed Grantaire down the nearly abandoned corridors.

XXX

That evening when Enjolras returned from his Les Amis meeting, something wasn't right. He could feel the tension in the muggy air surrounding him; Enjolras sped up his pace subconsciously until he was stood outside his room. The door was wedged shut. No matter how much Enjolras wiggled the handle and pushed against the door, it just wouldn't budge. "Grantaire! Let me in!" Enjolras shouted, partially in concern and partially in irritation. He didn't have time for this; he had an essay to write for tomorrow. "R come on!" he shouted again, thumping on the door. A muffled sob came for inside and suddenly all the anger rushed out of his body. "Nic, what's wrong?" Enjolras asked softly, still trying to work the door open.

"Go away," Grantaire choked out from inside, something was seriously wrong.

"This is my room too," Enjolras replied softly and all fell silent. After a thump and a few moments of a scratching noise, the door edged open and Grantaire's face poked round the door. His cheeks were tear stained and his usually glimmering golden eyes were dull and red rimmed.

"Go away Enjolras," he mumbled, it was obvious that his heart wasn't in the command at all. His eyes scanned the floor, unable to meet Enjolras' gaze.

"Not until you tell me what has happened," Enjolras stated firmly standing his ground.

"I don't wanna talk to you," Grantaire stated and tried to shut the door. Enjolras stuck his foot in the way and slid into the room.

Grantaire's side was a mess. Torn sketches and broken items littered the floor but not one single piece crossed the line to Enjolras' side of the room. Enjolras surveyed the damage as Grantaire curled back up in his bed with the pillow hugged to his chest. "What happened Nic?" Enjolras asked, padding through the debris. Tears streamed down Grantiare's face and silent sobs racked through his despairing body. The younger student sat next to his roommate's curled figure and softly ran his fingers through Grantaire's hair in an attempt to sooth him. Enjolras did care about Grantaire; no matter how much he feigned irritation and annoyance, he wanted to make Grantaire better again. He wanted to crush anything that made those wonderful golden eyes leak salty tears. Eventually Grantaire's body stopped shaking and he wiped the unshed tears out of his glistening eyes.

"J-jean, Jean-Henri l-left me," he sniffled and burst into tears again, this time burying his head in Enjolras' shirt. Enjolras' eyes widened in shock and sympathy before he regained enough control over his body the hold the sobbing teenager against his chest reassuringly. "He, he said dat he couldn't cope, w-with a long distance relationship and ... and found someone new," Grantaire added, leaning into Enjolras' hand that was stroking his matted hair. Enjolras felt a mad desire to break Jean-Henri's heart … literally. His heart twisted with fury and utter shock. But that would not help Grantaire and Enjolras needed to be there for Grantaire if nothing else.

They sat there all night with Grantaire sobbing erratically and Enjolras soothing his damaged roommate. It was around three in the morning before Grantaire calmed down and finally moved away from Enjolras. His eyes were red rimmed and salty tears stained his flushed cheeks. Shivers tore through his body while trembling arms wrapped round his goose pimpled legs. Enjolras backed away slowly to give Grantaire some space to compose himself. "I'm sorry," Grantaire murmured after a few minutes of an awkward silence that Enjolras had no desire to break.

"It's okay, you can always come to me," Enjolras smiled weakly and Grantaire nodded solemnly.

XXX

The next few weeks progressed in a boring monotone. Grantaire wasn't painting or writing any music and he spent all of his isolation time curled up crying in the corner. If he wasn't broken before, he certainly was then. It wasn't long before isolation was over and Grantaire had his first proper day of school. Despite the frequent emotional breakdowns, Grantaire had really progressed with his reading and could now form some words with letters on cards. He was trying really hard and Enjolras felt his heart swell with pride when Grantaire read a sentence aloud to the whole English class. Despite being in such a rut, Grantaire had still arrived every day at their reading sessions and was clearly enjoying himself. Until they ended and he went back to his room to cry.

Three weeks after Jean-Henri called it off, Enjolras returned to his room and Grantaire wasn't there. And he wasn't in the art room. Or the Musain. Enjolras was just beginning to panic that Grantaire had done something stupid, like run away, when he heard music from one of the practice rooms. Grantaire was sat in front of the grand piano with his fingers flying over the keys. His deep melodic voice broke the silence and his began singing Pure Imagination with a small smile on his face. He seemed so peaceful and Enjolras was perfectly content to watch but he knew that if Grantaire caught him then they might slight straight back to square one; they had got so far, he couldn't risk it. Enjolras pushed open the door and gently sung the next line in time with Grantaire. "If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it," he sung and their voices were in perfect harmony. Grantaire's playing faltered for a second but his purely blissful expression returned at the melody picked back up. Enjolras sung as he sat on the bench next to Grantaire and they harmonised automatically. It was the first time they had every sung together; and it was beautiful.

The song drew to a slow stop and the silence filled the gap it left. "Jean-Henri used to sing that song with me," Grantaire murmured and Enjolras' heart twisted again. He loved Grantaire. It had hit him during the weeks of tending to his roommate and wouldn't leave him alone. Every waking moment was spent thinking of him and his work was suffering. He was spending more time helping Grantaire with his homework than he was spending on his own. The only thing that could drag him away from Grantaire's side was Les Amis meeting and even those were cut short as his paranoia grew more prominent. Grantaire was still mourning for Jean-Henri; it would be months before he could let his feelings be known to the drunkard.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras murmured but Grantaire turned to face him. All traces of pain and guilt were vanished of his face and a small smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

"Don't be. That was better than we ever did it," Grantaire murmured softly and inched closer to Enjolras. The prefect could feel Grantaire's smoke scented breath on his face and couldn't resist leaning in to capture the drunkard's chapped lips with his own.


End file.
